


Cease

by orenashii



Category: Samurai Jack (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 08:51:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11101140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orenashii/pseuds/orenashii
Summary: Ashi is reunited with Jack at his darkest moment.





	Cease

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally written on April 16th, one day after the fifth episode of the fifth season aired. I watched and re-watched that episode countless times, as I've done with all episodes before it. I was so struck with the writing this season, particularly in regards to Jack's thoughts of suicide. This was my take on how Ashi and Jack would be reunited during Jack's darkest moment.
> 
> I did not include the horseman, later revealed as the Omen, an actual spirit meant to lead Jack to his death. I originally thought him just another hallucination. Keep that in mind when you're reading this story.
> 
> Thank you for reading and I do hope you enjoy!
> 
> P.S. This is my first fanfiction ever. Please be gentle.

* * *

 

Cease

Synonyms: _put an end to_ , _stop_

 

* * *

 

 

From any passerby’s account, it would appear that he was meditating. They would not be wrong, necessarily, but the place he was mentally preparing himself for was not one of tranquility.

The war in his mind was coming to an end. His hallucinations would no longer haunt him.

He felt the handle of the blade on his fingertips before he could fully open his eyes, already knowing exactly where it was. He weighed it in his palms before gripping the handle. A moment of regret crossed his thoughts: this was not the blade of his choice. It passed quickly.

He was ready.

He positioned his weapon above his abdomen. He inhaled. His mind ceased to have thoughts.

 

* * *

 

 She knew where he was.

She’d been traveling for weeks, meeting creatures that had sung his praises, seeing landscapes that he had eradicated of an evil touch, learning the true nature of a man she had been bred to hate.

It should have surprised her more, to learn that nearly everything she knew about the world was wrong. But it didn’t. To witness the beauty of nature, to sample exquisite cuisines, to immerse herself in other cultures; it felt right.

It should have also surprised her that everything she knew about her former enemy was wrong. Again, it did not. The samurai was a hero. A friend to many. But he was troubled. She had to find him soon.

For a while, the search had seemed hopeless. The world was a big place, largely unexplored to her. How would she ever find him? Every step she that took had held hope that she would catch a glimpse of him. Every friend of his had been apprehensive of her until she explained her story. She had been desperate to find a clue but, as she soon found out, discovering hints to the whereabouts of a vagrant were easier said than done.

Until a group of boisterous, red-headed warriors had pointed her in the right direction.

“I think he’s in danger,” she had said to them. The statuesque women had never met the elusive warrior in person. However, they had heard countless stories told to them by their late father. They could recount his history as if reciting it from a textbook. Hours of cheering, laughing, and eating food from an odd woolen mammal, she had finally gotten a break.

He was visiting the ruins of his home.

She adjusted the pack on her shoulders, a moderate weight of supplies and gifts and treasures that had been given to her from those confident they would be reunited. Well, some carried that attitude. If anything, they wanted to make sure she found him, for his safety, and for the sake of giving him offerings as gratitude.

She nodded to herself as she relayed the stories she’d heard of this place he had once called home. She knew she was close. As she walked, the lively sounds of the forest were becoming quieter. An odd sense, a not so foreign mixture of hopefulness and dread, began to increase itself within her with every step.

Soon, the forest was silent.

She stopped. She strained her ears to hear anything. The flaps of a bird’s wing. The buzz of an insect. There was nothing. She looked around warily, wondering if she’d been lured into a trap.

And then she spotted him.

“Samurai!” she exhaled in relief. He was seated on a large, white cloth at the trunk of a tree. She was close enough to be noticed by now but he did not open his eyes. She rolled her eyes instinctively, thinking he might be having another one of his ‘internal’ episodes.

His fists were at his abdomen. What was he holding?

Realization dawned on her. She inhaled sharply and sprinted out to the clearing without thinking.

“Stop!”

His eyes snapped open.

“Stay back.”

“What?” she said, sliding to a stop.

“I said, stay back!” he shouted in a voice she didn’t quite recognize. The samurai she knew didn’t speak much but she knew his voice. It always had a soft quality to it, lent by his accent, even in anger or fear. This was completely different. This voice cut through her like steel.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, confusion and anger creeping into her tone.

“It’s time to end it,” he replied roughly. His eyes slid shut. “Don’t you think?”

She felt her emotions swirl in her gut. Her natural instinct tended towards anger. What the hell was he talking about? These words did not suit him. This was someone else entirely. "Who are you?" she asked slowly. “This isn’t the samurai I know."

A sound escaped him. Mirth and disbelief.

“You do not know me at all.”

“I know you aren’t a coward."

“Who cares anymore?” he barked, opening his eyes once again. “There is nothing left to fight for. There is no more honor.” He refused to look at her. It was as if he wasn’t speaking to her at all.

It made her furious.

“And this is? What, exactly? Some twisted way to regain something you think you’ve lost?” She was yelling now, throwing her pouch off of her shoulders and closing the distance between them. His lips curled back in aggression, like a wolf ready to strike.

“What would you know if it? This is the only honorable thing left to do. I will not spend eternity in this forsaken time!”

She narrowed her eyes as she stood above him, letting his words seep into her conscious. She could see him clearly now. His jaw was clenched. His eyes were wide, manic, darting back and forth but still not meeting her gaze. The sight of him was like being doused in ice water. She froze.

She knew he was immortal. Her mother had told her stories of a demon that spat in the face of death as he ravaged the world of everything holy their master had created. She hadn’t known of his true story and subsequent struggle until she set upon the world to find him. Her anger dissipated immediately.

She dropped to her knees in front of him. She could see the sheen of sweat coating his forehead beneath his bangs. His hands still held the blade to his abdomen, though they were shaking now. She wanted to reach out and snatch it away but she knew, begrudgingly so, that he was faster.

“Samurai,” she began, “Jack. I have seen what you have done for this world. I’ve seen all the good you have caused, the lives you’ve touched. This,” she paused, searching her words carefully. “This is not how your story should end.”

He did not respond. But his eyes finally lifted to meet hers.

She continued gently. “You may not see it, but I do. There is still hope.”

It appeared that his expression softened, but only for a second.

“No!” he cried out, voice cracked. “You do not understand!” He was beginning to look exasperated. Like the thinnest part of a thread tensing as if it knows it’s about to be cut.

“Then show me.”

“I have shown you enough! What more do you want from me?”

“You have shown me what Aku has done to this world. But you have not shown me what this world has done to you.”

The thread was cut.

His breathing stalled. His eyes became impossibly wider as if he was having an epiphany. He slowly worked his gaze down to his hands as his mouth slowly closed, forming a deep frown. He did not look up at her but she could see his shift from panic and rage to undeniable sadness. She heard a soft grunt from him as his head tilted forward, his bangs shielding his eyes.

The samurai was still for a few more moments before he finally placed his blade beside him. He shifted his posture until both hands were firmly on the ground before him. A pose of surrender.

The need to say something, or do anything, overcame her. She remained silent. Minutes passed.

“I’m just,” he finally said, leaning forward slowly until his forehead met her shoulder. Her eyes widened with the contact.

“So tired,” he spoke, his voice, still broken, barely above a whisper. He exhaled a shuddering breath, the prick of tears burning his eyes.

It wasn’t until she felt the cloth of her suit dampen that she felt the full gravity of the situation.

The samurai, the legendary warrior, the savior of thousands, was also a person. A human being. A broken man. One whose optimism and enthusiasm for life had long since been taken from him, leaving him shattered, an empty shell, a man ready to take his own life because he no longer believed he could experience peace.

His arms wrapped around her waist, whether a display of affection or as a means to steady himself she could not be sure. His body was now shaking slightly from the force of tears he hadn’t allowed himself to shed in years, yet he barely made a sound.

This was a man who had endured so much for so long without a moment of peace. Someone who had been withheld from affection for most of his life.

In that way, he was just like her.

Her arms lifted from her sides, one hand to rest on his neck, the other atop his head.

“Then rest,” she whispered, lightly stroking the smooth strands of his hair. His grip on her tightened.

She held him for a few moments, wishing she could do something more to ease his pain. Her own eyes threatened to spill with tears but she refused them. She suddenly remembered a moment of her travels, having stayed with a village of beautiful, lavender-skinned women with hair of brightly colored feathers, who sang enchanting lullabies to their children each night. She did not know the words, for she did not speak the language, but she could recall the melody.

She dipped her head down next to his ear as she began softly humming. She noticed his hair was slightly damp. He had bathed recently.

A breeze flew by, making the leaves above them quiver. She adjusted her arms, holding him closer to protect him from the wind. She could feel his body calming, his breath evening out as she continued the song.

Then she heard something unexpected. A quick hitch of his breath. Was he laughing?

His arms loosened around her but he did not lift his head.

“I’ve never been serenaded to by my own assassin.”

Her face warmed up to an uncomfortable degree.

“You are an idiot,” she said, her voice cracking with embarrassment.

“Hn,” he replied. She touched his cheek, nudging him to lift his head up from her shoulder and saw that, despite his attempt at humor, his eyes were swollen, weary from everything he had endured. She let out a soft breath from her nostrils.

“Rest, Samurai. I will,” she hesitated. “I will be here when you wake up.”

If she hadn’t been holding his head in her hand, she would have missed the slight nod he offered. He pulled himself away to lay on the very cloth he had intended to die on. Her chest clutched painfully but she quickly disregarded it.

He fell asleep almost instantly. She rose slowly as not to disturb him to retrieve her discarded bag. She pulled out a thick blanket, one of the many gifts given to her, and draped it over him. She used a second blanket to fold and gently place underneath his head.

She made sure everything was arranged. He was comfortable, a fire was lit, and they had food when he was ready. She sat on the ground and tilted her head up to look at the sky. It was a beautiful evening, the skies bright like fire with the setting sun. She glanced back down at the samurai, her eyes lingering over him, before quickly looking back up, feeling the familiar sensation of tears welling in her eyes.

  
Her gaze remained focused on the skies for the remainder of the night.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that's that!
> 
> Obviously, there were some things that I got wrong. Aforementioned horseman, for example. Also, Ashi was not wearing a suit made of any kind of cloth. WTF and oh well. I kept it in anyway. There was one edit I made, though, after episode six aired.
> 
> In the original story, I took out the part where Jack attempts to make a joke. It seemed like something he might do but in the end, I thought it was a little inappropriate given the heaviness of the situation. But after I saw episode six and how he casually compliments Ashi's hair and dress after coming this close to killing himself, I put it back in. I realized, that's classic Jack. He is an absolute dork. I love him.
> 
> Again, thank you for reading! Comments and questions are welcome.
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr at orenashii if you'd like to talk! There's more fics where this comes from.


End file.
